Wicked: The Musical
by Wicked Thespian
Summary: I decided to write the musical, as I see it, in story form... I'm trying to stay as far away from the book as possible. Yes. I've read it. Yes. I've seen it. I'm bored. Tell me what you think! I moved it here, since it might get more reviews...


**Chapter 1: No One Mourns the Wicked**

The lands of Oz were united in celebration. Munchkinlanders and the aristocrats of Upland danced together while Winkies drank to their health. Hunting parties for the last of the Flying Monkeys were quickly assembled, through laughter, alcohol and exorbitant amounts of food. Winds blew with cheer, the sun as bright as the collective spirit of the Emerald City.

"She's dead!"

The Wicked Witch of the West was gone, and everyone knew it. Word had spread like wild fire, though, the story behind her demise contorted with each retelling. A young farm girl had managed to over come the Witches terrible magic, had drowned her in a bucket of water, had beaten her with said bucket of water until she was nothing but a hat and cloak. The farm girl turned into a valiant warrior, and then into the Wizard himself, the battle borrowed from the fights from legends. It quickly became apparent that no one knew the actual facts about the events surrounding the last minutes of the Witch's life.

The people of Oz were okay with that. As long as the most important fact of the story remained constant.

"The wickedest witch there ever was is dead!"

The castle of Kiamo Ko was beautiful in its sadness. The family that had previously occupied it, before the Witch had taken it into her clutches and transformed it into a place of evil, had barely lived in it two months out of the year. As rich as this family had been, considering they owned a castle in the first place, they had not seen upkeep of Kiamo Ko as a worthwhile expense. It was all well in the end, as if the previous occupants had known they would one day be loosing their home to wickedness itself.

It wasn't known how the witch had come to acquire the property. Very much like a stronghold in its design, it would have taken a vast show of power and an incredible amount of intimidation for her to have taken it by force. She was easily capable of both, but it was a difficult story to accept. Even for the people of Oz, who tended to believe anything they were told. The witch was evil, the Wizard said, so why shouldn't she steal any and every thing she needed?

Kiamo Ko was built atop a high hill, over looking the lands below with an almost imperial majesty. It was grand and expansive, far too large for one person to inhabit and maintain, with hundreds of acres of land attached. The castle had a history of strength, surviving war after civil war without one besieger ever gaining entrance through the high walls. There was enough food and water stored somewhere inside, hidden in the massive underground escape system, to sustain many people for a long period. Numerous hidden doors, traps and weapons made invasion of the place a particularly bad idea, as it was considered safer outside the stone towers and broad courtyards than in. From the high tower the Witch had taken as her room, one of the four that stood guard on each corner of the square castle, one could see the only direct path to Kiamo Ko and follow it all the way to its root. The castle was surrounded on all of its remaining sides by an almost impregnable, gnarled black tree forest.

Here the Wicked With of the West lived alone, working her evil from her tower, cursing the lands of Oz and the benevolent, wonderful Wizard with her terror and malice.

"Good news, indeed!"

Standing outside the castles main gate, a battering ram at their feet and strained, red hands shoved deeply in the comfort of their pockets and robes, was a group of villagers. Dressed uniformly in green, they were all citizens of the Emerald City, come to the mouth of horror itself to seek an end to the reign of misery the Witch ruled. They had made it inside, the large wooden door in splinters before them, and had met her. It was not any one of them, this small group of courageous Witch Hunters who had rallied together under a man made of tin, who had actually destroyed the green demon. They had tried, some even fighting the Witch hand to hand with their pitchforks and torches against her enchanted broom, but the final blow had come from someone outside their group. The piercing scream of the Witch as she met her warranted fate terrified and sent the rabble into a flight of fear. Now, panting as they slowly came to their senses and began to feel the light giddiness of accomplishment, the Witch Hunters understood the magnitude of what they had done.

Their voices and conversations erupted together, no one listening as each rejoiced in incoherent glee.

"She's dead!" "Finally!" "The Wicked Witch of the West is dead and gone!" "Let her join her sister in flames!" "Did you see me? I swear I cut her with my scythe before the end!" "Good news!" "We defeated the enemy of all of Oz!" "The Wizard will surely thank us for our part!"

Yet above all this chatter one voice managed to pierce the fray, pointing towards the sky. Every excited conversation died as each head, every individual expression sharing a degree of fear as the thought that they had not been as successful as they believed numbed their bodies cold, turned to follow the line created by the mans arm. They saw, shrinking towards the Emerald City, a pink glow.

The sight filled their hearts with joy. Clinging to each other, almost overcome with emotion, they watched breathlessly for a moment. At length, after struggling to remain masculine as others around him wept in joy, the man who had first spotted the beautiful orb spoke.

"Glinda was here! She must have witnessed our bravery and goes to tell the Wizard himself of us! Come on, then! Enough blubbering and wasting time! Let's get to the Emerald City as fast as our feet will take us!"

And they did, the group racing after the pink glow as it diminished far ahead of them. They ran with leaps of joy, some dancing, some skipping, and all of them crying to the heavens, their voices carrying higher than the clouds and stars.

"The Witch is dead!"

Glinda the Good waited inside the Wizard's palace as the roar of the crowd, some voices in protest, some in understanding and all with some level of loyalty, began to die down. The Wizard was on his way home, carried by the wind on his ridiculous air balloon. Though she knew the citizens of Oz were too wrapped up in feeling free and joyous to realize it, she at least knew that, for a few short confusing moments, there was no one to follow.

The people of Oz were, without meaning insult or offense, distinctly stupid. Particularly those who lived in the Emerald City. They were a people so used to the Wizard and all his glorious peculiarities that they no longer questioned anything the ruling class said or did. It was why the Wizard had been able to do everything he had, to the Animals and to his loyal subjects. Why his guard could go around torturing and even killing innocent people, or those only guilty of some small offense. But their eagerness to follow blindly was also what allowed Glinda the opportunity to do something unselfishly good.

For once.

Drawing a deep breath, the beautiful, blonde witch waved her wand and leaned back on her heels as a bubble formed around her. She was almost used to the smell of her chosen mode of transportation, something like a rose pedal covered in a thick layer of dust. In an instant she was above a large crowd just outside the Wizard's palace, floating leisurely. She exhaled completely in the time it took for someone to notice her.

"Look, it's Glinda!"

She opened her eyes, dawned a brilliant smile, and eased her bubble closer to the crowd. They clapped and cooed, impressed by her entrance and entranced by her warm demeanor and the power she symbolically possessed. She had been close to the Wizard, after all. What they failed to realize was that now, with the Wizard back where he truly belonged, Glinda was much more than a figurehead.

She smiled at them some more, nodding hellos and waving her hand to silence them. Unfortunately, the movement only seemed to prove to them that she was, in fact, real, and it encouraged them to cheer all the louder. Sighing, she waited impatiently for them to calm down before opening her dainty mouth to speak.

"Follow Ozians," she began, finding her voice shaky and weak. She steeled herself, clearing her throat and continuing bravely, "Good has conquered evil! Let us rejoicify: The Wicked Witch of the West is dead."

A raucous cheer followed this, the sound making the delicate material of her bubble tremble unnervingly. Glinda raised her hands and this time silence followed.

"And the Wonderful Wizard of Oz has returned to his far off home."

A lower, sadder acknowledgement of this fact followed. Mumbles and sighs. Glinda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. A voice from the crowd startled her, making her think for a moment that she had not resisted as well as she might have, and her mocking had been noticed. Grimacing, she looked down to find the owner of the voice.

"So she is dead, then?" A young woman asked, clutching her baby close to her as if fearing the answer. Glinda smiled and nodded slowly, reassuring.

"Yes. She died by melting after a bucket of water was thrown on her by a young farm girl."

And in one sentence the rumors should have been cleaned and settled. The crowd beneath her nodded, each suddenly sagely in their wisdom of the matter, muttering to each other in distaste as they decided firmly that this was the truth and the rest was rubbish. Glinda the Good was telling them personally, and she could not lie.

"It serves her right," a man, stepping near the woman with the baby and taking her tenderly in his arms. Glinda felt a wistful tickle in her chest at the sight of loving affection, her eyes stinging privately. She endeavored to maintain her smile, waiting with a short patience for the man to finish his thought, "you reap what you sew: she deserved what was coming to her. What did she expect? That she could just get away with spreading her slander against the Wizard? I say it's about time someone showed her what wickedness brings!"

The crowd fell victim to the mentality of a mob, cheering and jeering the memory of the Wicked Witch. Glinda watched as the green-clad citizens of the Emerald City rejected their fear of the Witch and hooted as if they, each on their own, had single-handedly murdered her. They stomped with such ferocity Glinda believed they were imagining the Witch's body or grave beneath their feet. Glinda spoke in a low, measured voice, closing her eyes.

"The wicked die alone. Their lives are lonely. That, in itself, is justice enough. Goodness knows… I can't imagine she had any friends with her at the end. The Witch was left on her own to die, you understand, and no one will… miss her," She became aware that the crowd beneath her had grown silent with her words. She could almost feel their compassion, yet knew it was because she was speaking with a breadth of understanding they couldn't fully grasp. They were compelled to be sad, because she seemed to be. There was no honest sorrow to be had from them. She continued regardless, opening her eyes and looking down at them as a school teacher would her young students, "But you must truly believe that people are not born wicked. They may, under certain circumstances, have wickedness thrust upon them. She was born, like that young baby you hold, to a mother and a father. She had a childhood and, of course, as so many shamefully do… her parents kept secrets."

She looked beautiful. He knew at that moment he would always remember her the way she looked that morning, standing in the early orange rays of the sun, her silky black hair luminescent, her deep eyes expressive and full. He could see their love reflected in those eyes, and it broke his heart to have to be separated from them. From her. He took her into his arms, holding her close. She put her head against his chest, breathing in rhythm to his heart beat. They stood still as the minutes bled away, basking in the warmth they created.

"I won't be gone long, my love. The Munchkins called this meeting so last minute, I could not put it off. If I could, believe me, I would stay here with you."

"Oh Frex, I understand. You're the Governor. Munchkinland needs you to sort out their problems for them. You and I both know how short sighted the Munchkins are. They need your diplomacy to keep the peace between the guilds. Do them proud, honey. Don't rush things simply because you miss me."

"I just hate the thought of leaving you lonely here, in this isolated place. If you could come with me…"

"Don't be silly. It's only one night, and I'd just get in your way if I went with you. It will be faster, and easier for both of us, if you go alone."

Frex nodded. His wife knew best, as always. She smiled up at him, the strong lines of her chin and nose casting shadows across her soft face as the sun rose on her right. He kissed her lips affectionately, and she laughed against him, pushing him playfully away. Surprised, he looked at her quizzically, his arms empty and open, inviting her back.

"You'll be late if you dawdle around here all morning. The sooner you get out of here, the sooner I'll see you again. Tomorrow morning."

"Afternoon, if I'm lucky. It takes a while to sort out the mess the delegates make when they call me in last minute. But I promise, you'll be in my heart and thoughts every minute you're out of my sight."

She nodded, pushing him towards the coach that was waiting impatiently for the Governor of Munchkinland. He took her hands and kissed them, then pulled her into a tight hug. She patted him, laughing at his silly emotional display, almost embarrassed for him as the driver and escort guard looked on. Kissing him on the cheek, she broke away from him and gave him one final shove towards his appointment. Giving in, he begrudgingly skulked towards the carriage. He turned back to find her waving, and it gave him the resolve he needed. She was right. The sooner he dealt with the business trouble in Munchkinland the sooner he would be able to hold her in his arms again.

"I'll see you in the morning," he said with a confident nod. She laughed and clapped, egging him on. Smoothing his hand over his cleanly shaven head, he climbed into his seat and motioned for the driver to take them down the wooded path towards the main city. Living in the woods provided him and his wife a comfortable level of protection and privacy. When he left her alone, however, he deeply regretted his decision to settle there. The path was one less traveled, true enough, but those that did use it were often vagabonds and wayward losers from many of the different lands. They were always drifting through, and had yet to cause any real trouble, but still Frex worried.

The coach pulled away and she sighed, watching her husband disappear over the horizon. She shook her head and rolled her shoulders, running her hand through her silky hair. It was almost purple in the natural light, deep and thick. She took the shall from around her shoulders, letting her low cut top display her breasts in a way Frex would disapprove of. But he wasn't here today. Sighing, she leaned against the fence and watched the road. The dust from the coach was settling, the morning sun climbing towards noon.

"Hello, little lady." A familiar voice cooed. She looked up, grinning, as a man in a funny hat and long trench coat came towards her from the direction of the city. She opened the gate and moved into the road to meet him. He jogged the last few steps and caught her in his arms, swinging her around and kissing her firmly on the lips. She kissed him back, startled by his strength.

"I was wondering when you would get here."

"Like I would leave you alone on my last night in town? Not after the week you've given me." The man grinned and took her by the arm. She walked with him into the house she shared with Frex as if he didn't actually exist. The thought that her lover had been walking towards the house as her husband had been driving away from it tickled her. The danger of them passing in the street, with Frex completely oblivious to the betrayal waving at him casually from the road. It made her want her new-found play toy all the more. She took his hands and pulled him towards the bedroom, but he resisted.

"Not so fast, my dark-eyed beauty! What's the rush? Here, I brought you a gift." As he spoke he dug around in his trench coat. By the time he had finished his sentence he had two green bottles in his hands. She smirked mischievously, reaching out for one of them. How ever the elixir inside was made, it was done brilliantly. It was the most delicious, and potent, alcohol she had ever tasted. She sipped at it carefully, knowing full well how quickly it would knock her flat. He took a long swig, more than accustomed to the dizzying affects of the drink.

It didn't take long for the two of them to find themselves completely inebriated. Giggling and stumbling, they fell over each other onto the bed, a pile of arms and legs. They gracelessly undressed, their lips finding each other of their own accord, their fingers groping clumsily over the most private, darkest places of their bodies. It was an afternoon of drunken, reckless passion, a long goodbye and the tumultuous end to a torrid affair.

The evening broke through the window and the darkness, as if to symbolize how backwards and corrupt their relationship was, woke them. Dawning his strange hat and pulling his clothes, with the slowness of a painful hangover, on haphazardly, he made his way to the door. He left her sleeping on the floor, where they had finally collapsed. She was snoring softly, and he hoped she would wake up before her husband got home. Still, that would be her problem, either way. He crept out of the door, stumbling and groaning as his head screamed at him for drinking so much. The noise in his mind followed him down the road as he walked away from Munchkinland and, for the last time, away from his lover.

Nine months later, she finally knew she was never going to see him again. She had been standing in the kitchen, her hands in the sink as she washed the dishes from a late dinner, when her water broke. The contractions came with furious, white hot waves of pure agony. She collapsed, Frex at her side in a flash, carrying her limp, pregnant body from the kitchen to the living room. He sent for the midwife and the doctor, who both arrived almost before the Governor had finished calling for them.

The Animal midwife, a Cow, ushered Frex from the house, leaving him to worry and fret in the front garden. He pottered around uselessly, kicking at weeds and fussing with plants he had trimmed only the morning before. Hours oozed by, like molasses through a funnel, then Frex found himself being summoned back in by the doctor. The midwife was busy between his wife's legs, coaxing the stubborn baby out from its cozy hiding place. The doctor explained that the baby was early, but large for its age nonetheless.

"It's coming! I see a nose!" The midwife cried happily. Frex nearly leapt over her, grabbing on to the Cow's shoulders as the Animal eased the baby free. There was a moment of silent confusion as the two absorbed what they were looking at. An idea struck the Cow and she covered the baby in a towel, drying it with a slightly urgent roughness that Frex did not protest. The doctor, seeing their expressions, moved to join them. The midwife moved the towel from the silent baby. All three gasped.

"What is it? What's wrong?" The new mother, exhausted and in pain, cried helplessly from her position on the sofa. Frex went to her, unable to find words. He took her hands and kissed them, holding them to his body in a determined show of strength that he did not actually feel. The doctor and midwife exchanged a look, the baby almost silent in the arms of the Animal. It whimpered softly, cold, and the Cow held it closer. The doctor, repulsed, looked towards the parents, "My baby! What's wrong with it?! Why isn't it crying?"

"It's alive. A girl. It's… the baby is atrocious. A sin, I'm sure. I've never seen anything like it. Sweet Oz, I swear I never have," the doctor said, shaking his head. He saw the tears that stung the mother's eyes, but his heart was already hardened. He had seen the miracle of birth hundreds of times, but this was the first time something so obscene had ever occurred. Even as the parents cried before him, he gathered his things and readied to leave. Just being near it made him feel like he was committing a crime, "There is evil in this house, for something like that to come from it." He bowed his head in a show of pseudo-respect for his governor, then escaped through the back door.

The midwife, meanwhile, found herself strangely attached to the child. She was one of the most well behaved newborns the old Animal had ever seen. She gurgled and hummed, clinging with surprisingly strong, tiny hands to the warm clothes of the Cow. The midwife also found herself inclined to disagree with the doctor. She looked at Frex, smiling warmly, the thick leather wrinkles of her old face deepening in a way that made the child in her arms coo.

"Sir, don't listen to him. This child is yours, to love and cherish. There's nothing wrong with her, my loves. She's perfect… almost."

Frex patted the fevered brow of his wife as she swooned on the sofa. She had not yet seen her child, but was in no condition, he decided firmly, to do so. It would overwhelm her, in her weakened state, and the doctor had gone. He looked at the midwife coldly, nodding at the baby.

"Take it away."

"But Sir, she needs to be held by her-"

"I said take it away!"

The sharp rise in his voice woke his wife from her trance like state. She looked at him, then towards the back of the midwife as the old Cow moved slowly from the room, bent over the baby and whispering to it with tender reassurance. She let her eyes come to rest on her husband, her breath deep and slow.

"What's wrong with our baby, Frex?"

Frex smiled at her, almost at a loss. He felt battered and broken, assaulted on this special day and unfairly tested. He lacked the strength to tell her something comforting, to come up with some reason for the way things had turned out. The moon light fell over his beloveds face and he kissed her softly lighted lips lovingly.

"She's… unnaturally… green."

"So you see," Glinda, who was growing tired of the sound of her own voice, said slowly, "it couldn't have been easy for her."

The crowd beneath her was quiet. They did not know what to think or do, slowly coming to the realization that their Good Witch was defending, in a way, the path the Wicked Witch of the West had chosen. Their compassion was limited to the stories of terror their peers exchanged, and all that the Wizard and his people fed them. The Witch was evil. Glinda was good. It startled them to realize that the two could actually cross paths. The man who had sparked this story, his arm still around his wife, timidly raised his voice to stop Glinda as her bubble began to ascend.

"Miss Glinda! Is it true you were her friend?"

A gasp rippled through the crowd. Glinda felt her chest tighten, looking over the startled, betrayed expressions and knowing she could not allow them to think she was somehow in league with the Witch. She smiled at the question, laughing to ease their worry.

"Well, it depends on what you mean by friend. I did know her… that is… our paths did cross. At school."


End file.
